


A Cry At The Final Breath That Is Drawn

by Batshit_Bogs



Series: Through the Mirror [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Blood and Injury, Body Horror (mild), Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Hurt No Comfort, I mean I know I wrote this but still, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Reverse Robins, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, fuck the Joker seriously fuck him, here's some more trauma for ya Bruce, how could he, minor tho - Freeform, no beta we die like tim, uh this is kinda fucked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batshit_Bogs/pseuds/Batshit_Bogs
Summary: The worst part about this isn’t the fact that it’s taken a month to find him. It’s not that he was kidnapped, or that the Joker is the one who’s had him. It’s not that he’s been tortured to the point where Harley Quinn came to beg Bruce to save him.-Tim has been missing for weeks. Bruce finds what's left of him.
Relationships: Joker (DCU) & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Joker (DCU)
Series: Through the Mirror [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937332
Comments: 31
Kudos: 133





	A Cry At The Final Breath That Is Drawn

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really re-write this or anything, so feel free to point out spelling errors. Uh, this is fucky. It isn't as bad as I could make it, but y'know, whatever lmao. It's five a.m and I'm pulling an all day-er. If I ever get a better idea for this I'll re-write it, which is the beauty of fanfiction. Take backsies are allowed
> 
> A lot of the Joker's dialogue is taken straight from the Joker Junior ep of BtAS
> 
> In this, Bruce is 38, and Tim is 15
> 
> **CWs**  
>  _\- torture_  
>  _\- blood descriptions_  
>  _\- swearing_
> 
> If I missed anything lemme know

The worst part about this isn’t the fact that it’s taken a month to find him. It’s not that he was kidnapped, or that the Joker is the one who’s had him. It’s not that he’s been tortured to the point where _Harley Quinn_ came to beg Bruce to save him.

It’s that Tim has been in Gotham the entire goddamn time. 

Batman, Signal, Spoiler, Black Bat, Bluebird, Omen, Nightwing, and even Flamebird have been scouring the city every night ever since Tim went missing, and not a single one of them found him. Weeks of searching, and he was in the city.

As Bruce swings into the building (an old apartment near the docks, a place they’ve passed over too many times), he contacts Damian, and only him. Bruce doesn’t know what he’ll find, but he knows it will be horrific, and Damian has seen unspeakable horrors. If backup is required, and Bruce hates to think it, he’d rather have Damian see what’s waiting than any of his other children.

Damian will be able to handle it. 

Hopefully Bruce can as well. 

The building is silent and musty as Bruce creeps through it. For the Joker’s hideout, it’s suspiciously barren of any clown paraphernalia or the signature ‘ha’ that’s usually scrawled all over the place. It seems like a normal abandoned building. Bruce knows better.

In Gotham, there’s no such thing as a normal abandoned building.

He painstakingly sweeps each floor, working down to the basement. In the back of his mind he already knows that that’s where he’ll find them, and he hates himself for hesitating. He should storm in and save his - _not his, Tim still has parents_ \- kid. Tim doesn’t deserve to suffer any longer than he already has.

The thing is, though...Bruce is scared. Terrified. A month alone with the Joker is an unimaginable fate, and in that time Tim has been tortured beyond comprehension. Bruce doesn’t want to see that, but he forces himself to move faster anyway. 

As suspected, Bruce discovers the building to be completely abandoned by the time he gets to the door leading to the basement. He grips the doorknob for a long moment, frozen. With a shaky inhale, he turns it. The staircase beyond is absurdly long and brightly lit, and the ‘ha’ graffiti missing from the upstairs paints the walls in a rusty brown. Bruce doesn’t have to look twice to know it’s blood.

He prays to whatever god is listening that it isn’t Tim’s. 

There’s a low hum in the walls surrounding the staircase, and Bruce clenches his jaw as he recognizes the sound as a white noise generator. Perfect for blocking super hearing. No wonder Jon couldn’t find the Joker’s base. The Joker is either smarter than Bruce thought, or Tim let that fact slip. Bruce doesn’t think about what could make him spill a secret like that. 

All too soon he reaches the bottom of the stairs. A long hallway stretches before him, and at the end is a bright green door with a purple smile painted on it. Bruce forces himself towards it. Each loud stomp of his boots on the floor makes him tense more, and by the time he reaches the door he’s tighter than a coiled spring. 

Turning the knob is one of the hardest things Bruce has ever done. Opening the door is another. What lays beyond is...unexpected.

The basement is nearly the size of an empty warehouse. Stage lights line the ceiling, bathing the area in a garish, artificial luminance. The prop design for the basement is different from Joker’s usual lineup. Where he usually sticks to the circus theme and death traps, it looks like he’s trying to simulate a reality tv show set. Something from a family sitcom in the 90s, from the yellow couch to a maze of fake walls with perfect curtains. 

It makes Bruce’s skin crawl. 

“Batsy!” Joker’s grating voice echoes in the silent basement. “You made it, good - I was worried the casserole I prepared would get cold.”

Bruce stays quiet as the clown steps out from behind one of the fake walls. He’s dressed in a purple tweed suit with a green carnation in the breast pocket. In a white-gloved hand is an unlit pipe.

“Not feeling chatty?” Joker’s ghoulish grin widens. “Would you rather I call you something else...Bruce?”

Bruce stamps down a flare of panic and exhales slowly through his nose. It shouldn’t be a shock that he knows - Bruce is aware that he likely pried many secrets out of Tim. It’s a situation there are contingencies for. It will be fine, it doesn’t matter that the Joker knows. All that matters is saving Tim.

Joker narrows his eyes. “Not surprised, eh? Not even startled that I know your secret.” He leans against the wall and turns the pipe in his fingers. “And kinda like the kid who peeks at his Christmas presents, I must admit, it’s sadly anticlimactic. Behind all the stern and batarangs, you’re just a little boy in a playsuit crying for mommy and daddy.”

The basement is too convoluted for Bruce to try and find Tim, not when there must be various traps and hiding places. He’s going to have to let Joker lead him to Tim, as much as he wants to beat the clown into a bloody pulp.

“It’d be funny if it weren’t so pathetic,” Joker scoffs. He pretends to think for a moment, then shrugs. “Oh, what the heck, I’ll laugh anyway.”

Raucous, strident laughter bounces off of the maze of fake walls and scrapes against Bruce’s ears. He grits his teeth and balls his hands into fists. Not for the first time, he wishes he could cross the floor, slam Joker into the floor, and squeeze his pasty neck until his eyes pop.

For Tim, Bruce restrains himself. 

“Where is Wren,” he growls, letting promised violence bleed into his voice. 

“Wren,” Joker echoes, sounding confused. “I don’t know any Wren.” He clicks his tongue and strokes his chin for a full minute before snapping his fingers. “Ah! You must mean my little JJ! Oh, you must meet him, he’s a darling boy.”

“Where. Is. He,” Bruce repeats. 

Joker winks and sweeps his arm at a space between two walls to his right, which looks to lead into a corridor. “Right this way.”

Bruce glares at the Joker as he sweeps past him and into the corridor. As soon as he steps inside, the fake walls close behind him, and the top seals off, effectively boxing him in. On the wall to Bruce’s left, a t.v flickers to life. It’s black and white, and shows Joker presenting a table full of tools made for torture.

“Let’s begin with how I peeled back the layers of the boy’s mind,” Joker says, his voice crackling through a speaker.

On the other wall, another t.v turns on. This one shows Tim in his Wren uniform, strapped to a metal gurney. Bruce’s heart constricts in his chest just seeing him struggle against the restraints, his mouth moving in soundless yells and words.

“Oh, he bravely tried to fight it, and I admit, he was admirably resilient,” Joker continues. Another t.v turns on as he speaks, and Bruce walks down the hall to see it. Every inch of him screams to knock the walls down, to tear the prop set apart, but he has to play along. He _has_ to.

This t.v shows Joker at a fake barbeque with Harley. Both are waving at the camera. Harley pretends to sniff the grill like it’s cooking something delicious, and Joker rubs his hands together before removing two clamps attached to wires. He opens and closes them, and each snap generates sparks of electricity. 

“You would have been proud to see him so strong,” Joker says. Another t.v. This one has Joker attaching the clamps to the metal gurney. Tim’s unmasked eyes widen and he jerks harder against the straps. Joker’s sick grin widens as he steps back to a lever. He winks at the camera, pulls the lever, and Tim’s back arches off the table as he screams. Though there’s no audio, Bruce can hear phantom cries in his ears. He almost reaches out to the t.v, as if he could stretch his arm inside in and pull Tim to safety. 

Joker sighs through the speakers. “But eventually the serums and the shocks took their toll, and the dear lad began to share such secrets...many, many more beyond who you and your little bat family are. Secrets that are mine alone to know.”

Yet another t.v, this one depicting Tim limp on the gurney. The only sign that he’s alive is the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The Joker is circling the gurney like a shark, a blade in his hand and the ever-present smile on his face. Behind the gurney, half in shadow, Harley is staring in horror. She’s saying something - begging, it looks like, but her pleas are going ignored. Joker stops by Tim as the boy’s eyes peel open. 

The Joker stands behind him and holds his face with one hand, prying Tim’s mouth open with gloved fingers. Tim jerks and struggles, tears spilling down his face, but he’s powerless as Joker slots the knife into his mouth and presses the blade against the corner.

Bruce’s stomach drops and turns over as he realizes what’s about to happen. 

Blood drips down Tim’s chin, and he screws his eyes shut.

The cold seeping into Bruce’s gut flares into an inferno with the suddenness of a lightning strike, and he slams his fist into the t.v, shattering the screen. 

“Touchy,” the Joker laughs. “If you didn’t like the movie...I’ve got slides.”

The end of the corridor opens, briefly blinding Bruce with light. The Joker’s silhouette fills the exit, and Bruce roars as he charges forward. 

The first punch is a satisfying crack of knuckles against the Joker’s thin face, and Bruce roars again as he slams the clown into the concrete. The Joker’s pipe clatters across the cold floor.

_“I’ll break you in two,_ ” Bruce snarls, wrapping his gloved hands around the Joker’s throat and squeezing. 

The Joker laughs, though it’s a strangled, choked sound. He eeks out, “Oh, Batman, if you had the guts for that - hk - kind of fun, you would have done it years ago.”

Bruce growls and squeezes tighter.

“I, on the other hand..." There’s a flash of silver, and Bruce leaps away just in time to avoid a direct stab to his side. Instead, it cuts through the thinner fabric there and just barely grazes his skin. Joker cackles as he scrambles to his feet and sprints away. Bruce wastes no time in charging after him.

“JJ is a precious thing, really,” Joker says conversationally as they run. “So _feisty._ So eager to please. Once I got him settled in he really fit into our little family so well.”

Bruce growls low in his throat and forces himself to go faster.

The corridors are twisting more and more, and Joker doesn’t stop humming the entire way. The walls are fading from cheerful yellows to sickly greens, and the wallpaper is ripping. The lights are dimming, too. 

Bruce bursts out of the corridor and skids to a stop inside a large, closed off room. It’s free of props, save for a pile of giant child blocks against the far wall, which are swathed in shadow. The Joker is waiting in the center of the room, still humming.

Wait...no...Joker isn’t the one who’s humming. Now that he’s here, Bruce can hear the swooping tunes clearly as they echo in the basement. It sounds like some sort of children’s song, but in an eerie way that makes Bruce’s chest feel cold.

There’s something swaying on top of one of the shadowed blocks. The humming is coming from it.

_No,_ Bruce thinks. There’s a tremor in his hands. _No, no…_

“Oh, JJ!” Joker calls, ambling towards the blocks. “Daddy’s home!”

The humming cuts off abrupt, and the form on the block stills. 

Joker stops in front of the shadows and makes a ‘come here’ gesture. “We have a guest, now don’t be shy. It’s just your uncle Batsy, a _very_ old friend of mine.”

“Bats,” the form sings, his voice high. “Bats and birds, falling down, bats bats bats…” He giggles, and it’s the worst thing Bruce has ever heard. It’s a sick mockery of a wonderful laugh that used to fill the manor’s halls. 

“Yes, JJ, Batsy. Come on out, let him have a look at what a beautiful boy you are.”

The form moves, far too smoothly to be normal, and he slides off of the block, still giggling. It comes in fits and bursts, as if it’s involuntary. It probably is.

Tim steps out of the shadows, and Bruce stumbles a step back as bile rises in his throat. 

“Bats on the ground,” Tim continues to sing, his mangled lips stretched into a permanent smile carved nearly to his ears. “Writhing and screeching, no nets no lines.”

“Oh, good lyrics,” Joker says. “You’re getting very good at singing, my boy.”

Tim turns his wide blue eyes up to Joker. They seem too bright against his sickly white skin. He’s always been pale, but now...it’s like looking at a walking corpse. The purple and green suit he’s wearing is an imitation of the Joker’s own suit, though Tim is wearing shorts and a purple hyacinth rests in his breast pocket.

Joker runs his fingers through Tim’s ghastly green hair. “Isn’t he just precious, Bats? A little Joker Junior, a marvelous addition to our merry brood. We thought it was high time we settled down.”

Bruce feels sick. He can’t move, or speak, or tear his eyes away from the twisted mockery his boy has become. Every inch of him is rooted to the spot as ice creeps through his veins. 

“I wish we could all be here, but Mommy went out to get milk,” Joker says. He sighs and checks a non-existent watch. “She should be back _aaaany_ minute now, huh, Junior?”

Tim laughs and nods. “Out for us, fly...to nest.”

“Mhm, captivating. He got a little...scrambled in the adoption process, but that’s alright.” Joker laughs, and Tim laughs with him. “He wouldn’t be a Joker if he wasn’t a little out of it!”

There’s something more to this. There’s something wrong with Tim beyond the obvious, Bruce can see it. Tim’s eyes...they aren’t empty. Nor are they filled with blind madness like the Joker’s are.

Though the rest of Tim is frozen in a plastered smile, his eyes are roiling with emotion. They hold madness, yes, but they’re still intelligent. Calculating. _Fearful. Agonized._

“Wren,” Bruce says, finally finding his voice. _“Tim.”_

Tim laughs louder, though the emotion behind his icy eyes intensifies.

“There’s no Tim here,” Joker chides. “I don’t understand how you keep forgetting that. There’s just JJ.”

“Just us,” Tim says. He tilts his head, green bangs falling into his face. “Me and we, we and me. Us.”

If Bruce were anyone else, he’d simply cringe at Tim’s little saying and move on. But if Bruce is anything, he’s paranoid, and he latches onto a second meaning. 

_Us._ Tim isn’t referring to the others in the room, he’s referring to himself. As if there’s more than just JJ - Tim is still _in there._

“Tim, I’m going to get you out of here,” Bruce promises, dropping the Batman growl. “Just come here, son.”

“Batsy, Batsy, Basty,” the Joker sighs, standing behind Tim and putting his hands on his shoulders. “How many times do I have to say it? This is JJ, _my_ son, not yours.”

“Not yours,” Tim echoes, and his fingers twitch. For a split second, his eyes harden into clear, furious pools. Then they cloud over again and he repeats, “Not yours, not yours, not yours.”

“Get away from him,” Bruce snarls. 

“Face it, Batman. You’ve lost.” The Joker squeezes Tim’s shoulders and reaches behind him, into the shadows. “Wren is mine. Sure, I would have rather broken the original, _Damian_ -”

Instinctive protectiveness surges in Bruce’s chest at the sound of Joker saying his son’s name, and he balls his fists. His children’s names should never be on this bastard’s tongue. _Never._

“-oh, how funny _that_ would have been, but this one does just fine.” Joker’s grin widens as he hides something behind his back. 

Tim laughs, high and clear. “Nights, bats, lights -”

“And now, Batman,” Joker drawls, “you’re going to die. The last sound you ever hear will be JJ and I’s laughter.”

Bruce’s jaw is clenched so tight that he wouldn’t be surprised if his teeth crack. He’s desperately trying to figure out a way to safely get Tim to safety. No doubt the Joker has some sort of weapon on him, and Bruce doesn’t trust him not to hurt Tim if Bruce rushes them.

“Go on, sonny boy.” Joker removes his hand from behind his back, and it’s a fake-looking gun - one that likely works. He presses the gun into Tim’s hands and slides away from him. “Make Daddy proud.”

Tim looks down at the gun and slowly shifts it into one hand, soft giggles growing louder by the second. His finger curls around the trigger and he raises it.

It’s pointed directly at Bruce.

“Tim,” Bruce says, his voice gentle once again. He holds his hands out non threateningly. “Put the gun down. Let me take you home.”

“Home,” Tim titters. “Empty, no me, only us.”

“Tim, please, put it down.”

“Come now, Junior,” Joker crows, watching from the sidelines. “You don’t want to disappoint Daddy, now do you?”

Tim flinches violently as fear strikes through his eyes, and he pulls the trigger. There’s a simple click, and a flag pops out of the muzzle with a ‘bang’ flag on it. Bruce hates that he flinches.

“Good boy, now, once more!”

  * **⤘⤘⤘ -**



_Daddy wants us to kill._

Tim is still laughing - he can’t stop. He can’t stop, and he hates the sound. He hates how it hurts his chest, his throat, and the still-healing cuts sliced into his face. 

No, he likes laughing. Laughing is good. 

It isn’t.

_We hate it._

Daddy likes laughing, so JJ - Tim? - should too.

_I want to pull the trigger._

He can’t. Tim - JJ - _Tim_ can’t do it. 

_Daddy wants us to kill._

But Tim _can’t._ Batman - Bruce, Bruce hates killing. If Tim kills, he’ll be abandoned. Cast out. Put in Arkham. Steph, Cass, Duke, _Damian_ \- they'll all hate him.

_Kill Daddy._

Yes, kill Dadd- the Joker. Kill him, and everything will be okay.

No, don’t. The no-kill rule applies to Joker, too. If Tim - JJ - if they kill the Joker, Bruce will be disgusted. The Joker is too important.

Bruce wants him to put the gun down.

Daddy - Joker - wants him to shoot.

JJ wants the trigger pulled.

Tim wants to obey orders. 

“Deliver the punchline, JJ,” Joker cackles, and Tim hears himself laugh louder. Or is that JJ? Tim and JJ, JJ and Tim, they’re the same, aren’t they? A bat and a clown, fighting each other - or something else entirely.

JJ can’t ignore one of Joker’s orders. If he doesn’t listen, they’ll go back to the table, and there will be shocks and needles and shocks and _knives -_

Tim is trying to find a loophole as he fights to keep his trigger finger from squeezing. The gun wavers between Bruce and Joker - Daddy - _Joker_. 

There’s no way he can kill either of them. If he kills Joker, Bruce will hate him. If he kills Bruce, his friends will slam him in Arkham and abandon him forever. Or Tim will be trapped with Daddy forever. Neither are viable options.

Tim doesn’t want to kill them. They’re both too important. But he also can’t put the gun down, JJ won’t allow it.

_Punchline...deliver it...pull the trigger._

Through his laughter, Tim thinks he sobs. If he does, it would explain why Bruce’s expression breaks, and why JJ laughs louder.

Both Tim and JJ are in pain. They just want it to stop. Pulling the trigger could make it stop.

The loophole.

A compromise.

JJ gets to pull the trigger, and Tim doesn’t have to kill anyone important. 

Fire erupts in his cheeks as he grins impossible wider, laughs impossibly louder. 

_Deliver the punchline._

Tim - JJ - Tim - JJ - Tim - they can make both fathers proud.

  * **⤘⤘⤘ -**



“Deliver the punchline, JJ,” Joker cackles, and Bruce forces himself to keep his focus on Tim.

He doesn’t want Tim to pull the trigger. He doesn’t want that on his boy’s conscience. Tim is only fifteen, for god's sake, it would wreck him.

Bruce just wants him _safe._ And yes, if that means that Tim kills the Joker instead, then he’ll take it. He just wants Tim back home at the manor, where Bruce and his family can help him heal from this nightmare.

Halfway through one of Tim’s too-loud laughs, the gun dips and his smile cracks. For a split second, there’s a sob and overwhelming pain, and then the gun is back up and the smile is plastered on his face. 

The gun is starting to waver between the Joker and Bruce. The Joker is simply watching with cold amusement, grinning all the while, waiting for how this plays out.

“Tim,” Bruce all but whispers. “Please...come back to me.” 

The gun trembles. Suddenly it stills, and the confusion and pain in Tim’s eyes clear. An awful certainty settles into his posture as he stops laughing.

Bruce edges forward an inch, and murmurs, “That’s it, son.”

That horrific grin never drops. The laughter starts again, louder than before, and it sounds wrong in a way Bruce can’t place. Blood drips down his cheeks from the uneven cuts Joker carved into Tim’s cheeks, the wide smile splitting them back open.

Tim stumbles back, his clear, intelligent eyes locked with Bruce’s, and he presses the end of the gun’s flag against his temple.

Bruce’s heart stills in his chest. The Joker is laughing, Tim is howling, and Bruce reaches out -

_“NO!”_

  
  
  
  


_Bang_.

**Author's Note:**

> Damian bursts in a few minutes later. The Joker is gone by then, and Bruce is sitting on the ground like a puppet with his strings cut, staring at Tim's body. Yeah so Damian kinda has to deal with his dad disassociating, as well as getting his little brother's body out of the basement. Fun stuff. Yikes.
> 
> Tysm for reading, sorry for the hurt no comfort, feel free to leave a comment
> 
> Throw me in a blender and hit puree @ [Batshit-Birds](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/batshit-birds) on Tumblr


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